


Farewell and Adieu

by thestrangehistorian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, some appearances from other characters but mostly the pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangehistorian/pseuds/thestrangehistorian
Summary: It’s the year 1592, one hundred years after Columbus landed on the island called Hispaniola. The seas are rife with tension and treachery as the great powers of Europe duel for supremacy on the waves. It is in this way that Antonio Fernandez Carriedo finds himself captured by notorious privateer Arthur Kirkland.Originally written for EngSpa week - I hope you enjoy!





	1. Ushant to Scilly

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, youngest officer in the Spanish Royal Navy, was not the sort of person inclined to hating things. Hate was a strong word, and unlike “love” could not be administered freely. As the good book said, “Love is gentle, love is kind.” Love can be given to anything. Love was entwined with passion and joy, yet it was also simple and sweet. Love was good. Hatred implied strength and cruelty and a lack of forgiveness. It was fire that never died, scattering sparks on the wind, reigniting on whim and consuming everything until nothing was left but ash.

No, Antonio had never been inclined to hatred. At, least, he hadn't been.

He was crammed into a cell in the stinking bellows of the great ship _Queen Mab_ , which was technically in the employ of so-called Good Queen Bess, though everyone with more than a grain of sand in their brains knew that it was a pirate ship. The captain was the only person in the world who could match Antonio for skill at sea – the twenty-six-year-old Arthur Kirkland.

With his ridiculous feathered hat and rich red coat, the young privateer cast an imposing figure. He wore shiny black boots and smiled often, though he was rarely cheerful and seldom laughed openly. He carried an ornate sword and walked like a king though he’d probably been born in some barn in the dull English countryside. Nobody seemed to know precisely where he came from, only that he was a terror. He made a name for himself robbing Spanish galleons. This habit, naturally, was how Antonio found himself in chains.

They had taken a brief respite, he and the crew of his _Isabella_. It was to be their last stop before they sailed back to Spain. Isabella’s hold was packed with treasure – dried chilies and all other manner of strange plants and spices, the husks of a certain kind of rare beetle used to make scarlet dyes, mounds of silver. The sea had been gentle and clear for their journey. Antonio would have said that it was Lovino, his beloved foster-brother, who had charmed her so. When they returned to the continent, Lovino was to be married to a pretty girl from Antwerp but until then, he was free to do anything and everything he wanted - to see the world, a new world, to dance on beaches and in colonial taverns. He wouldn't - Lovino never danced if he could help it - but otherwise, he and the crew were feeling quite pleased with themselves. When they stopped on the island, the crew bought Lovino a round of drinks in the tavern with the prettiest girls, and told him to enjoy his last night of freedom.

It was all in good fun, of course. Antonio was notoriously protective and Lovino was too proud to sully his honor by taking a lover when his own wedding date was so near at hand. But Michela, with her heavy black hair tied up in red ribbons, led him cheerfully around in a dance they seemed to make up on the spot. As he downed his third or fourth cup, he began to sing, which was another thing that Lovino never did. He had an incredible voice; Antonio's heart swelled with joy to hear it. And when the night faded, Lovino allowed Michela to kiss him on the cheek in farewell before Antonio shepherded him and the crew back to the ship.

The next morning, they disembarked. They did not make it very far; by the end of the afternoon, they were exhausted.

In the end, they were completely unprepared for Queen Mab's assault.

Though Antonio lost his ship to the depths, and suffered a severe blow to his pride, even he had to admit that Kirkland’s reputation was annoyingly well-deserved.

And he was actually quite handsome. He had a pretty mouth – terrible shame about those eyebrows, though.

But he wouldn’t stop singing.

When he’d finished stealing Isabella's treasure, imprisoning Antonio’s crew and sinking his beautiful ship, the captain of Queen Mab set his men lose for a night of revelry on the nearest island. Kirkland himself grabbed a bottle of fine white rum and sat down in front of Antonio’s cell, drinking and reading what might’ve been a romance novel. It was hard to see, with only one lantern for light down here. It was dim and cold, faintly greenish as the night blackened outside. The more he drank, the louder Kirkland sang. Now the bottle was half empty.

_Farewell and adieu, to you Spanish ladies_

_Farewell and adieu, to you ladies of Spain_

_For we have received orders to sail to old England_

_We hope in a short time to see you again_

Antonio was sure that the song choice was deliberate. Clearly some kind of mental torture. Kirkland wouldn’t dare lay a finger on another officer but apparently he couldn’t resist an opportunity to gloat.

_We’ll rant and we’ll roar, like true British sailors_

_We’ll rant and we’ll roar, all along the salt sea_

_Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England_

_From Ushant to Scilly, ‘tis thirty-five leagues_

“It’s not,” said Antonio.

Kirkland, bottle halfway to his lips, raised an eyebrow over at him.

“Ah,” he said, “so you do speak.”

“Of course I do,” said Antonio. “Unlike you, I show courtesy to my opponents.”

“When have I not shown you courtesy?” Kirkland asked, grinning. “This performance is courtesy. Are you not entertained?”

“You’re no siren, that’s for sure.”

“You Spanish dogs are a strange bunch,” said Kirkland. “I’ve been told that I have the loveliest voice on all the seven seas.”

“Are all the English tone-deaf, or is it just that your crew is afraid to speak out against you?”

Kirkland’s smile was savage now. “Tut, tut. And they speak so highly of you at court. I didn’t expect you to be so ungrateful. Is this what passes for manners in your country? Truly astonishing.”

“Oh,” said Antonio, voice hard. “You heard of me. Is that why you came after me, bastard?”

“Naturally!” Kirkland lifted the bottle in toast. “So, what’s it not?”

“Your pardon?”

“You interrupted my song. What for?”

“Ushant to Scilly is thirty-four leagues,” said Antonio flatly. “Not thirty-five.”

Kirkland snorted. “Wonder how you bloody Spaniards ever discovered anything if you can’t even properly measure the distance between Ushant and Scilly.”

“It’s thirty-four leagues!” Antonio insisted. “Your maps are the faulty ones.”

In response, Kirkland began his song anew:

_We’ll rove our ship to, with the wind from southwest, boys_

_We’ll rove our ship to, deep soundings to take_

_‘Twas forty-five fathoms with a white sandy bottom_

_So we squared our main yard and up channel did make_

“My God,” said Antonio, groaning. “It’s ‘for to make sounding clear’ and ‘did steer’ not ‘did make’ for the last line. You could at least get the lyrics to your own shanties right!”

Kirkland stared at him.

“And tell me, _Senor_ ,” said Kirkland, taking special pleasure at butchering the pronunciation. “How did a truehearted Spaniard such as yourself come to be so knowledgeable about the English? Is it possible that you’re a turncoat? Would be terribly embarrassing for me if you were. You really should’ve said something.”

“I am no traitor!” said Antonio, enraged at the thought. “But it’s as I told you. I am a man who gives his enemies the courtesy they deserve. You – you are a coward, a pirate, attacking in the dead of night and descending like vultures –”

Kirkland took a deep swig of his rum. Antonio wondered how great his tolerance was.

“The English navy must be truly desperate,” he said, “if it’s willing to allow drunkards such as yourself into its ranks.”

At this, Kirkland’s eyes flashed. He set down his bottle and took off his hat. And he walked – slowly, deliberately slowly – towards Antonio, crouched in his cell, hands bound behind his back. He’d been stripped of his weapons – his prized battle axe and his commissioned blade, his pistols – and his finery, leaving him in a loose white shirt with his pants tucked into his boots. They’d even taking his earrings. Arthur Kirkland was of height with Antonio and of similar build, but Antonio had to must all the courage he had in order to keep himself from feeling weak and small.

“Let me explain what is about to happen,” said Kirkland, smiling. “When the crew returns, we are going to sail straight for England. If you are lucky, then your crown values your life and you will be ransomed. If not, you will be executed as pirates because that is what I shall tell them that you are. And they will believe my word over yours. The way that this ends is entirely dependent on your behavior. So I would kindly suggest for you to not pester me.”

Antonio blinked, and then spit on his shiny black boots.

“Suit yourself,” said Kirkland, with vicious glee. “Bon voyage, _Senor_.”

He picked up his hat and his rum and as he walked out, he sang:

_Now let every man drink up his full bumper_

_Now let every man drink up his full bowl_

_We’ll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy_

_And here’s to the health of each truehearted soul_

Antonio, alone and in the dark, hated him.


	2. To See You Again

"Psst! Psssssst!”

Antonio jolted unevenly into wakefulness. A tiny, seven-year-old fist was punching him over and over again in the shoulder, where his arm was hanging off the bed. Opening his eyes, he could see Lovino standing there in his nightshirt, eyes gleaming with unhappiness. Perhaps he’d wet the bed again and was too embarrassed to call for someone. Perhaps Feliciano had crawled into his bed; the younger Vargas brother always hated to be alone, even in the night. Or perhaps he’d simply been unable to sleep and now wanted to inflict that misery on someone else.

“Go get me something to drink, bastard!” Lovino said.

The foul language drew Antonio fully into the land of the living. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Where did you learn a word like that?”

“I’m thirsty!” Lovino insisted, pouting. “Now.”

Antonio sighed heavily, filling his lungs with crisp night air. “Why don’t you go and get it yourself? Or you can always call a servant.”

“No, you bastard!”

“If I go and get you something to drink, will you tell me where you learned that word?”

Antonio locked eyes with Lovino, encouragingly. Despite his already prickly temperament, he really was a sweet boy, so Antonio was willing to forgive him for almost anything. He craved attention but wanted to be independent. He cried when he was scared and was scared often, but he wanted to be seen as a strong and capable young man. His mind changed like the weather in a storm. And as the heir apparent to the Vargas family crest, he had a lot to live up to. Lovino’s life wasn’t going to be simple, and so Antonio didn’t mind trying to make things easy for his loved ones, even if it meant that children would sometimes punch and swear at him.

“Fine!” Lovino whined. “Just go, bastard!”

“Promise to tell me the truth?”

“I’m _thirsty_!”

“Okay, okay,” Antonio hushed, patting Lovino on the head with one hand as he felt around for a shirt with the other. “Just wait here for a minute, okay?”

“Hurry up, bastard!” said Lovino, and Antonio could have sworn that he was enjoying the curse even more now that he knew for sure it was forbidden. He had to sigh. He hadn’t been half this much trouble when he was seven-years-old.

The Vargas manor was lit only by the columns of moonlight streaming in from the outside. It was a cool, clear night in midsummer and so Antonio didn’t bother to light a candle. He passed through slivers of pale light and shadow, as quietly as he could. Through the windows, the Sicilian countryside was stark, illuminated in blue and gray. Signor Vargas was a merchant of silks and cottons and dyes; he lived outside of Palermo, in one of Sicily’s only bare landscapes. In daylight it was bearable but at night, it made Antonio’s chest ache. His ancestral home in Valencia had been surrounded by orchards, lemon and orange trees that bloomed white and smelled sweet in the spring.

It had been three years since he’d seen it.

Down in the empty kitchen, Antonio eyed two pitchers. One was clear water from a well outside. The other was wine, imported from a French vineyard – very expensive. A sip of wine might put Lovino right back to sleep, but then he’d only want more. Water was the safest bet.

“Toni?”

Antonio nearly dropped the pitcher. “Signor!”

There was a portrait of Alessandro Vargas hanging somewhere in this very manor. It showed a young man, tall and broad-shouldered with a sculpted, handsome face. His rich copper-colored curls hung into warm golden eyes. The painter had even captured the hint of a mischievous gleam in their depths. But this man didn’t resemble the painting much at all. His hands were lined and wrinkled, brittle with age. His eyes were tired, his proud back bent and his curls thinned and silvered. He was small; and despite that, Antonio still felt tiny beside him.

“I’m so sorry, Signor,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Nonsense,” Signor Vargas said, clicking his tongue. “I simply came down for a glass of water. Would you care to join me?”

“Ah, well –” Antonio glanced towards the door, betraying himself.

“Oh, I see,” said the old man with amusement. “Which one of them is it this time? Wait, let me guess – Lovino, is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Antonio said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, my boy!” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll be a good, strong man someday. And you’ll take care of my grandchildren when I’m gone. Promise me that, Antonio? Take care of my boys.”

Antonio had laughed uncomfortably and said that of course he would always take care of the boys, but why was Signor talking like this? After all, Signor Vargas was going to outlive them all at this rate. There was no need for such worry. But in the dream, his voice was stolen from him as Queen Mab’s icy darkness swirled in around him, dragging him down into a dreamless sleep. And the only sound was that order, the last request, promise me, promise me, promise me –

He woke to the crashing of waves against the side of the ship, cramped in the corner of his cell. His hands were unbound, thankfully, or he might’ve sprained something with the wildness of his burst into wakefulness. Antonio’s heart raced, flooding his face with heat and energy.

To calm himself, he tried to think of the sun. He thought of pink sunrises over golden oceans, sinking into cool white sheets after a long day under a blazing sky, the sea sparkling like a jewel as waves crashed against his ship. He thought about how his father used to tousle his curls and how his mother used to hold his hand as they walked through the plazas of Valencia. He thought about Signor Vargas with his silver hair and wrinkled hands, and about dear Feliciano with his skin splattered in paint, chasing his pet cats around the library.

He thought about Lovino, held prisoner somewhere on Queen Mab, and the guilt ate him alive.

* * *

 

Arthur Kirkland had a funny way of showing courtesy.

He took to visiting Antonio whenever he was bored. By chance observance, Antonio learned about his captor. For example, Kirkland was well-read and kept a large library. Every time he visited, he brought a different book. He learned that Arthur was not religious, and that his protégé was, of all people, a twelve-year-old cabin boy named Peter. Peter was blond and enthusiastic about his work, no matter what it happened to be. Though Arthur was gruff toward him, he also had a tendency to pat him on the head with absentminded fondness, almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it at all.

After the first night, Arthur refrained from getting drunk, but he still often came down with his rum anyway.

“I’m willing to share, if you’d like,” he’d say, grinning.

Antonio ignored him.

This, he’d decided, was to be his new policy. Lovino and Feliciano still needed him and he would not dishonor Signor Vargas’s faith in him by dying in this cell. Antonio had more life to live, more worlds to explore, and many more years at sea. One stint in an English jail cell wouldn’t be the end of him. And he had a feeling that, despite his mischief and his threats, Kirkland was the honorable sort. Once he had his reward for sinking Isabella, he would set the crew and Antonio free.

Antonio still didn’t trust him, though.

“Do you know what they say about you in the court?” asked Kirkland one day. “They call you a wolf. You swoop down on your enemies and ravish them, leaving them with naught but skin and bones – but you’re a charming wolf, nonetheless. All the ladies think very highly of you.”

Antonio rolled his eyes.

“Some of the men as well,” said Kirkland, eyeing him for his reaction. “You have all sorts of admirers it seems.”

Antonio wouldn’t give him anything. He pretended to sleep.

“Bloody Spaniard,” said Kirkland. “Some officer you are. I think you’re a pirate after all.”

And he started to sing about a poor soul whose lover had gone, ten thousand leagues away.

Day in and day out it was like this. Kirkland wanted to goad him into a display of temper, which would be taken as a threat and an excuse to see him to the gallows. Antonio tried to keep calm but it was difficult. The days were wearing him thin. It was damp and though they brought him rations and water with lime, he was afraid of catching ill. The seas could be dangerous. And if he was weak he could lose control – lose his temper, lose his life. Lose all that he loved.

It took one week before he finally broke his silence.

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Who, me?” asked Kirkland, as if there was anyone else Antonio could possibly be speaking to.

“As the captain of this ship, don’t you have more important responsibilities than guarding a prisoner?” Antonio looked at him, with cool amusement. “Or have you become the latest addition to my legion of English admirers?”

Kirkland actually flushed. It was rather gratifying, Antonio thought, watching the scarlet creep up his neck and into his ears.

“Don’t be absurd,” said Kirkland lightly. “Of course I’m guarding you.”

Antonio was surprised. “Do you think I’m that dangerous?”

“Of course you are dangerous,” was the response. “You forget that I’ve heard all about you. You’re the youngest commissioned officer in employ of the Spanish crown and I don’t think you got that position by accident. You can’t possibly think I’d be stupid enough to risk a member of my crew or give you an escape attempt, would you?”

At this, Antonio said nothing.

Then, he said, “I want to see my crew.”

“Good Lord, you are an idiot,” said Kirkland, raising his eyebrows. “If I’m going through the trouble of personally guarding you, do you really think I’d let my guard down just because –”

“I misspoke!” Antonio amended. “There’s just one member of the crew I need to see.”

“Who? Your first mate? Your master-at-arms?”

“His name is Lovino Vargas,” Antonio told him, desperation rising. “He’s not very tall and rather slight, brown hair and greenish eyes – and he wears a coin around his neck, an old Roman coin! I need to see him.”

Kirkland actually laughed. “My, my! So the rumors were true. Not very Catholic of you.”

“Shut up! His grandfather raised me after my parents died and now I’m all he has left in the world. He’s an innocent boy, he’s going to be married and he wanted to see the world before he settled down and I – I promised his little brother I would bring him home safe! I promised his grandfather I would protect him with my life. Maybe it was my fault for being careless and allowing you to capture my ship but – please, if you really are a gentleman, give me this one thing. Please, give me this and I won’t ask for anything else. Do whatever you want with me, I don’t care. I just need to know that this boy is going to be okay.”

It was the most impassioned speech Antonio had been able to muster since his capture, the longest conversation he’d had in a week. Kirkland’s sneer had completely vanished; he seemed genuinely shocked by the response. For some reason, Antonio noticed now that he had green eyes – a rare, pure green. They gleamed, jewel-like even in the darkness. He was looking for something, Antonio realized, but there was nothing left to see. Antonio was tired of the cold and dark, tired of worrying. He needed something to hold on to – he needed to know that his baby brother was alive.

Kirkland said, “I’ll go and check the prisoners for you, then.”

That evening, Peter the cabin boy came to bring Antonio his meal – and following close behind was Lovino. Antonio nearly wept in relief. The boy was unharmed – furious, a bit shaken, but unharmed.

“You bastard idiot,” he kept saying. “How could you possibly be so stupid, you _idiot bastard_ –?”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Antonio told him, leaning against the bars of his cell. “Really.”

“What are you smiling about?” Lovino demanded, eyes brimming with tears even though he hated to cry, even in front of people he trusted. “I could’ve fucking died, you bastard! You hear me? You almost let your own brother die, huh?”

Antonio beamed. “Actually, I think our host is a good man. I may actually have to give him a gift in thanks for all the hospitality he’s shown us.”

Lovino’s jaw dropped.

“What the fuck, you like the English now?”

Eventually, someone had to come and take Lovino back to the rest of the crew. But that night, the sea was calm and Antonio’s sleep was dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I wanted to do all seven prompts, but in the end I may not get around to it. This is as far as I have completed - the rest is in pieces, which I'll have to arrange into something more coherent as I get around to it. I hope you've enjoyed anyway - so let me know what you think!


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